the end where you begin
by All Galimatias
Summary: He keeps the shoes under the stairs until he thinks of something better to do with them.


For his ninth birthday, Dudley is taken to London by his parents. He is taken shopping, for new clothes and toys, to a fast-food restaurant, to start the boy's expansion into obesity, to a theme park, for sugar and adrenaline that keep his parents from having to think of more things to do.

On Dudley's ninth birthday, Harry Potter is eight years old and not so much taken to London as he is brought, like the wisp of commuter belt air that is trapped inside the Dursley's car as they close the door on Little Whinging. Both go equally uncared for.

For his ninth birthday, Dudley demands to be taken to a London swimming pool. He has had a total of one lesson and a half, but only in terms of payment. The first lesson he missed, and the second he left after half an hour, screaming that the other boys had been trying to drown him; Vernon Dudley successfully coerced a triumphant £1.35 out of the staff for the unused pool time. In his eyes, and the eyes of his mother ,Petunia, this makes him a verifiable Olympian.

On Dudley's ninth birthday, Harry Potter sits on the right hand side of the back seat, where the smell of his Uncle Vernon's sweat is blown back to him by the air rushing through the open window, and tries to ignore his cousin kicking him. He has had no swimming lessons at all.

Dudley makes friends, or accomplices, quickly, and always has. Aunt Petunia calls it his natural charm, and Harry, at eight-and-threehundredandtwentysix days, calls it fear. The dark haired boy with a quick grin looked nice, from a distance, Harry had thought, the sort of boy who would be a good friend. The sort that would show you which trees to climb, how to play video games and win, how to ride a bike. He's thin in the way Harry's not, rather than underfed, he's strong and athletic, and Harry doesn't quite recognise his longing for an older brother who'll protect him (he's given up on a parent).

But he doesn't end up Harry's friend, of course, but Dudley's, and the pair of them are twisting their arms into a vending machine as they attempt to steal sweets without anyone noticing. They don't manage it, but neither are they caught; Petunia and Vernon are blind to any mishap of Dursley's, and the school teacher who should be watching the other boy has his time taken up by the eleven other children he's responsible for.

Vernon buys two pairs of swimming trunks. One is just above knee length, dark blue and patterned, and expensive; these he gives to Dudley before engaging in a heated debate with the woman at the till over the legality of Harry going into the pool in his underwear. Upon extended and imaginative counter arguments that Harry is ever grateful for, Vernon resentfully buys a second, cheaper, swimsuit.

They should be accompanied into the pool, but Petunia lies and says her son and nephew are strong swimmers. In the changing rooms, under the din of families calling to each other, Dudley's new friend grins at Harry, teeth white in a malicious flash of youthful cruelty, and he says (_spits)_;

"_Nice trainers,"_

And jerks his head down at Harry's feet and-

'_**He laughed at me'**_

-then turns away.

Harry's trainers were once Dudley's trainers, as with most things he owns. Once white and red, they're now a motley grey, full of holes in the sides and soles, their laces frayed all the way up through the metal hoops. Cuts of faded red, more pink now, bleed out between the black biro ink Harry had tried to plaster them with.

The other boy's trainers are chunky with plastic and rubber, unmarked and well cared for. The laces are thick and white, tied into a careful bow like a gift. They look like they cost more than has ever been spent on Harry,

and he

_**HATE**_s

it.

The lightning bolt scar on his forehead burns white, and he rubs it with the back of his hand as he takes off his falling-apart shoes. He undresses facing away from the other boys and pulls on the new swimwear. Unsure as to what to do now, Harry's not ever been to a swimming pool before- he looks around as he slips out of the changing room. The pool he's looking at is small and full of even smaller children and their parents (also small, so small and pathetic, adults are so small and they don't help). Someone calls his cousin's name, and Harry automatically looks over his shoulder. His aunt and uncle don't call his name when they're out (maybe they hope one day to lose him) and so Harry has learnt to stick to Dudley if he wants to get back to 24 Privet Drive. Even if he doesn't, he can't think of anything else to do.

So he follows Dudley, who follows the Boy Who has the trainers, who is in turn following the teacher who's brought them to London.

"_Watch me, D,"_

The other boy gloats as he ignores the signs on the wall and takes a running leap into the empty pool, twisting into a neat dive and disappearing into the water. Dudley is trying to look unimpressed, and Harry isn't impressed at all.

They shouldn't really be allowed in here- the pool's closed off for a competition- but there are other spectator's, and as they don't try and get into the pool they go unnoticed. Harry watches the boy, who's left his trainers in his locker, as he warms up, swimming in repetitive, relaxed lengths up and down.

And up.

And down.

By the time they start the first race, Dudley's lost interest. It was his birthday, after all, and all they were doing was watching some other boy, an _older _boy who no doubt had had a better ninth birthday than him, do something that Dudley couldn't do.

Harry, however, is clearly transfixed. Not on the swimmers, but on the black-tile lines on the bottom of the pool, their image shaking up through the water. They don't look particularly like anything but water-blurred lines, but something about how they _move_, how they writhe in the water is almost serpentine.

Harry lets out a soft hiss.

Heedless, Dudley prods at his ribs and starts to mock his raggedy black swimming trunks and his raggedy black hair.

Tilting his head to one side (like something charmed), Harry is oblivious, for once, to his cousin. Like poison into his ear, he listens to the fragment of his soul that is not his own and his tongue vibrates with the words and another gentle gust of air leaves the slit that is his parted lips.

In the water, the boy that had the chance of being Harry Potter's friend is about to win a friendly race against a blonde boy. His hand is stretching towards the rim of the pull, is inches away, when he convulses in the water and his hand, unbidden, is yanked back to his chest.

The blonde boy over takes him, whooping as he pulls himself out of the pull, delighted. Harry moves out of Dudley's reach, bottle-green eyes blinking rapidly as he looks at the thrashing boy in the water.

"_Oi, Potter."_

That's Dudley, voice trickling down a metre of churning water, and Harry walks away quickly, back into the changing room. He's not followed, not challenged, because nobody thinks there's anything wrong, not yet.

He gets changed without drying himself, and has his socks on when somebody's mother screams. Screwing his eyes closed, Harry sees bright green flash against his eyelids, and he's shaking when he opens them again and finds his socks are sodden with pool water trekked into the changing rooms. Putting on the old shoes anyway, Harry creeps out, a ghost among the lockers.

On the car ride home, Aunt Petunia is hysterical. A boy _died_ in the pools just after they left, just imagine if it had been their Dudley, her sweet Diddums, just _imagine._

Harry does imagine, as his cousin slouches, asleep, in the seat next to him.

He puts Carl Powers stolen shoes in a box when he gets back to the Dursley's. He keeps them where he sleeps, in the cupboard under the stairs.

Because, Harry James Potter reasoned, as he stared up at the bare light bulb that night, this is where you keep things that aren't yours. Shoes and children both.

(The shoes stay there longer than he does.

Until he finds out about magic.

About being a hero.

About winning.

And then about being _bored._)

The shoes stay there until he thinks of something better to do with them.


End file.
